


Accession

by Spamberguesa



Series: Obsession [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Lima Syndrome, Stockholm Syndrome, because they both kind of are, everyone things these two are nuts, markedly less creeper thranduil, no longer captive tauriel, these two are still such a mess, though still kind of a creeper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spamberguesa/pseuds/Spamberguesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel, now at liberty, does not realize just how much her captivity has affected her. Everyone else, on the other hand, does – including Thranduil, who cannot help but use it to his own advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accession

Tauriel woke to the warmth of the sun on her face, and the warmth of Thranduil at her back. She hadn’t even moved, but already her heart sang the song of freedom.

Hopefully freedom, anyway. He might well go back on his word, though she doubted it. Terrible as last night’s conversation had been, it seemed she’d finally truly gotten through to him. And she’d only had to shatter his heart to do it.

She still felt terrible about it, too, despite the fact that it was entirely his own damn fault. After all he’d done to her, all he’d put her through, she shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but she did. Now that she had the chance, she ought to flee and never look back, but…she couldn’t. She didn’t _want_ to. And that was so very wrong. Perhaps his madness had infected her as well, through sheer proximity.

It would have been so much easier to hate him, if his motives had been different. If he’d wanted physical comfort of a different sort. Debasement was easy to loathe, but all the nightmares he had put her through had been because he borderline worshipped her. Which was every bit as wrong, but easier to stomach. She had long doubted that his intentions were as pure as he believed, but it seemed she was wrong. What he wanted was almost the antithesis of a mistress, and that…

That she did not mind, no matter how much she ought to. And oh, she ought to.

She turned in his arms, and wasn’t surprised he was already awake. He likely hadn’t gone to sleep. His face was too pale, his silvery hair incredibly mussed, and sorrow lurked in his eyes.

“Where will you go today?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I do not know,” she said, “but I promise I will come back.”

He didn’t look like he believed her, so she would simply have to prove him wrong. She could not bear the pain in his eyes, no matter that it was his own doing. “You should not,” he said, shutting his eyes. “You should run as far away from me as you can.”

“Yes,” she said simply, touching his chin, “I should. But I do not want to. Tonight I will return, and we will walk in the moonlight, and you will see that I am not so faithless as to be foresworn.”

He opened his eyes again. “Is that the only reason?” he asked. “Because you do not wish to be foresworn?”

“No,” she said. “Eru knows why, but I’ve grown rather fond of you, Thranduil, though by all rights I ought to want to gut you like a pig.”

He actually arched an eyebrow. “I do not know if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Both, I should think. Now let me up – I’m sure my hair is atrocious, and I want to eat breakfast on the lawn.”

\--

Huoriel was shocked to speechlessness when, upon her visit to Tauriel, she discovered they were not to spend the day imprisoned yet again.

“He is letting you _out_?” she said eventually, dumbfounded.

“We had a long – if painful – discussion last night,” Tauriel said. “He’s finally accepted that yes, he is in fact incredibly mad. Soon I will suggest he see the healers, but not yet. The wounds I dealt him are too raw.”

Huoriel noticed that during all this, Tauriel stood at the very edge of the doorway, but did not cross it. “Let us get some breakfast,” she said, watching Tauriel’s bare feet. Why did she have no shoes?

“Can we not tell everyone I’m free just yet?” Tauriel asked. “I have been isolated for so long that a large group might totally overwhelm me. Let us find Beleg and Menelwen for now, and venture further after we’ve eaten.”

She still had not crossed the threshold, and that filled Huoriel with strange kind of dread. She had heard of this kind of thing before – victims of long-term captivity who began to empathize with their captors. Tauriel had not been prisoner long, but she’d been so vulnerable and mazed with grief at the start of it. Under normal circumstances it might have taken centuries to break her, but she’d already _been_ broken.

“Very well,” Huoriel said. “Come on.”

To her intense relief, Tauriel actually followed. What in Eru’s name were they to do _now_? Now that Tauriel had some manner of freedom, she was even less likely to want to leave. Forcing her to go would be impossible; even if they tied her up and stuffed her in a sack, she’d find a way back here. Not for nothing was she one of the finest warriors in the Guard.

No, they had to break the King’s hold on her somehow, and Huoriel had no idea how to do it.

\--

Freedom was so wonderful that Tauriel almost wept with the joy of it. She and Huoriel were merely wandering the corridors, but it was more than she had had in months. The chill of the stone floor beneath her feet was not really any different than it had been in Thranduil’s rooms, but it _felt_ different.

She was, however, strangely reluctant to meet up with other people. But then, perhaps it was not so strange – she was well aware that she had to have been an object of pity to all who knew of her captivity, which at this point was probably everyone. And even if Thranduil had still been in the full throes of his madness, she wanted no one’s pity. It was not a thing she looked forward to seeing, but neither was it enough to keep her from her friends.

That did not, however, mean she wanted to see them all at once. They would be smack in the middle of shift change at this hour, and the guardroom would be a madhouse. Hopefully she and Huoriel could simply walk for a while, so that she might take in the sight of things she had thought she would never see again. Never had the halls looked so beautiful – her eyes took in the winding walkways and carved pillars with greed, and when they passed a waterfall, she paused a moment to feel its icy spray on her face.

“If there is one good thing about my captivity,” she said, shutting her eyes to savor the sensation, “it is that I will never take the halls or forest for granted again. I did not realize how very much I _did_ take for granted, before.”

She felt Huoriel’s eyes on her, and knew without looking that they were filled with skepticism. Having never been _held_ captive, there was no way she could understand.

“Tauriel,” she said, “do you not think the King will lock you away again later?”

Tauriel looked at her. “I know he will not,” she said, “because he could not bear it if I hated him. As I said, we had a long, if difficult, conversation.” She would say no more than that, for her sake as well as his.

She was not at all surprised when Huoriel said, firmly, “You should leave. Not just the halls, but the whole of the Woodland Realm.”

“And where would I go? Lothlórien? Imladris? I was born in the Woodland Realm, Huoriel. This forest is in my bones. Perhaps I would be safer in some other Elven realm, but I would never be happy. Can you say you would be?”

“No,” Huoriel said, “but I have also never been held prisoner in my own home. You are _not_ safe here, nor are you happy.”

“No,” Tauriel agreed, “I am not. But now that I have freedom, someday I can be again. Once Thranduil has got it into his fool head that I do not intend to leave him, I will rejoin the Guard, and all will be, if not what it once was, well again.” Even without her captivity, things could never have been wholly as they were; Kili’s death and Legolas’s departure had seen to that.

Huoriel’s gaze was still skeptical, but she would come around, in time. Once she saw that Thranduil’s odd madness was not of the sort that had led him to imprison her.

\--

Menelwen was quite shocked when she heard Tauriel was at liberty.

Beleg had seen her walking with Huoriel, and rushed to Menelwen with his news. Both had come off night shift, but she was suddenly no longer weary. She followed him hurriedly, practically running through halls and over walkways.

The pair stood before a waterfall, and Huoriel did not look happy. _Tauriel_ seemed content enough, no doubt relishing her newfound freedom.

Her face lit up when she saw them, and she launched herself at Menelwen with such force that it nearly knocked them both over the edge of the parapet, crushing her in an embrace that she would swear made her ribs creak.

“ _Air_ ,” she croaked, and Tauriel released her, leaning back to look at her face, green eyes positively greedy.

“It is good to see you, Menelwen,” she said. “And you, Beleg. I had hoped you would be on night shift.”

“For once, I will not complain of it,” he said. “How long are you free?”

“As long as I wish,” she said, “though I promised Thranduil I would return in the evening.” 

He cast a sober, worried glance at Menelwen, who returned it.

“Oh, enough with that look,” Tauriel said, exasperated. “We had long conversation about why he has been utterly ridiculous so far. He has come to what senses he has.”

Menelwen was deeply, deeply disturbed. Tauriel seemed to genuinely believe her own words. The King might not have hurt her in any physical sense, but he had clearly done _something_ to her mind, intentionally or not.

“Oh, forget it,” Tauriel said, clearly seeing her disturbance. “I am starving. We should get some breakfast, and tonight you can assure everyone that I have not been horribly tortured these last months. I will show them myself tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” Beleg asked.

“I have been so long away from other people that I think a crowd might overwhelm me,” she said. “I would not be able to handle so many questions at once. And I know full well there would be dozens of them.”

 _Most would be some variation of ‘have you lost your mind?’_ , Menelwen thought, but she could already see the answer for herself. _Someone_ had to find Legolas, before whatever damage the King had done had become irreparable.

But perhaps it already was. Tauriel did not seem to realize it had been done at all.

\--

Thranduil had been genuinely worried that Tauriel would not actually return, and breathed a deep sigh of relief when she came through the door – staggered through it, to be precise. Her color was high, her eyes shining – clearly she had been to the wine cellar.

“Did you enjoy your day?” he asked, when she tripped her way over to embrace him.

“You cannot imagine how much.” Yes, there was a distinct scent of alcohol on her breath. “You cannot imagine it at all.”

She sounded so pleased that guilt stabbed through him. Simple freedom should make her nearly so happy and grateful. He really _had_ done her a tremendous wrong, if a mere day with her friends could make her so ecstatic.

He couldn’t bring himself to say so, though, even as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the crown of her head. What had he _done_ to her? He wished she would try to beat him, not embrace him, for Eru knew he deserved it.

 _You finally have her_ , he thought bitterly. _And all you had to do to get her was break her._

She must have felt his tension, for she leaned back enough to look up at him. “Thranduil, what’s wrong?”

He took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “You should not be so delighted by something that ought to have been your right all along,” he said. “I should never have locked you in here.”

“No,” she said, “you should not have, and I wish you had not. I wish you had shown the side of you I have seen this last fortnight, like a normal person.” She said it so bluntly, with little in the way of actual accusation.

 _Without the chain_ , he thought, more bitterly still. The chain, which had wrecked any hope he might have had.

“But that does not mean I wish to leave you utterly,” she added. “Wrong it might be, but I like this side of you, and I would see more of it, even if I can never be what you want.”

How could she say that? How could she want anything more to do with him, after what he had put her through?

 _Because you broke her_ , he thought, _and she does not even know it._

And yet some dark part of him was glad of it. For if she had truly wished to wash her hands of him entirely, he could not have let her. And he did not want to think about what he might have done to keep her.

“Tauriel, how can I ever atone for what I have done to you?” he asked wretchedly.

Her eyes were serious when she said, “I do not know.”

It was a better answer than ‘you cannot’, but he knew that was the truth. He could grant her every desire in the world, and still it would not make up for the torment she had endured. 

“Almost I wish you would hate me,” he said, kissing her brow. “Eru knows I deserve it, and yet I could not bear it if you did.” He did not know what he would do, if she did one day decide to loathe him – but he doubted it would be anything good. She deserved so much better than what she had received from him so far, but that did not mean he would be able to give it to her. He was far too selfish.

“Yes, you do,” she agreed easily, “but no, I do not. Now tell me about your day – have you yet brought up the pink hair to Lord Falchon?”

He laughed. “No,” he said. “if I ever do, I want you to be there, so that you might witness his expression firsthand.”

“If only I had an artist’s hand, to capture it for posterity,” she said, drawing away and moving to the divan. In the firelight her hair was like a river of flame itself, her skin lit rose and gold. “I spent much time with my friends today,” she said, gesturing for him to join her. “Beleg _still_ has not mustered the courage to court Menelwen. I fear it might take him another five hundred years.”

Thranduil sat beside her, pulling her close. Her head seemed to be made to rest in the crook of his shoulder. “Has anyone said anything to him?” In reality he cared nothing about it, but Tauriel did, so he would take an interest for her sake. 

“Most of us, I should think, but he is deathly afraid of her elder brother.”

A terrible thought occurred to him: what if someone should seek to court _her_ one day? She was young; the death of her Dwarf might have broken her heart, but it would mend with time. Would he ever, even for the sake of her own happiness, be able to allow some other ellon to court her?

No. No, he would not. _Could_ not. She did not love him, but he could not bear the thought of her loving someone else.

At least that was a problem he need not worry about for a few centuries; she would not be willing to accept any suit with her Dwarf still fresh in her mind. Meanwhile, he could quietly make it known that any ellon who later tried would regret it. Immensely. Tauriel was _his_ , even if not entirely in the way he would wish, if he ever allowed himself.

“He who hesitates is lost,” he said. “If he so fears her brother, perhaps I will have a word with the ellon.”

“You would do that?” she asked, her surprise obvious.

“They are your friends,” he said, twining his fingers in her fiery hair. If even so small a thing could please her, he would do it. “Besides, I know who Menelwen’s brother is, and he thinks far too highly of his own skill.”

Tauriel laughed. “And what of my skill? Would you be terribly upset if I resumed training?”

 _Yes_ , he thought, but he could not say so without completely offending her. “Tauriel, you need not ask my permission,” he said, stroking her temple.

“I am not asking permission, I am asking if it would bother you,” she said.

“To be honest, yes,” he said, “but I know that is irrational, and that your training is part of who you are. Do not let my own ridiculousness dissuade you.” Logically, he knew that there were few in the kingdom more capable of taking care of themselves, but where Tauriel was concerned, logic was often not to be found.

“Why are you only _now_ fearing that something horrible will happen to me?” she asked, sitting up to look at him.

“I have always feared it,” he said, running his hand up her spine. “Always, since the first day you put on your uniform. Even when you became one of our fiercest warriors, I dreaded what might happen to you in the darkest parts of the forest.”

She looked completely nonplussed, the expression only amplified by the shine of alcohol in her eyes. “Silly King,” she said, poking his chin. “If I ever die, it will be in the most spectacularly destructive way possible. Tales of it will be told for millennia.”

“Now _that_ I believe. Have you eaten at all, or is your stomach full of wine?”

“No, an yes. I hope we’re having something good for dinner.”

\--

That night Thranduil lay long awake, while Tauriel slept with her head on his shoulder.

Every dark instinct he possessed wanted to lock her up again, to keep her wholly to himself and away from the outside world, from anything that could try to take her from him. The sane, actually _caring_ part of him did all it could to subsume that darkness, because he did not want to be responsible for even another moment of misery to her. He had done far, far too much damage to her already.

She had returned to him, he told the darkness, just as she promised. She returned smiling, closer to happiness than he had seen her since before the battle, pleased to eat dinner with him in the moonlight. _That_ was what he wanted, what he needed. Tauriel should have laughter in her eyes, not pain. And she genuinely did seem to have some manner of affection for him. It was far, far more than he deserved, and he would be content with it if it killed him.

\--

Word of Tauriel’s release spread rapidly – first among the guard, then the servants, then the ordinary folk and nobility.

Perhaps it was strange, how such little news was devoured so voraciously, but nearly everyone, commoner and noble alike, had spent centuries trying to protect her from the King’s madness. It had never been spoken of or agreed upon; it was simply what one did. If the King was going to be somewhere, you made sure Tauriel was not there, unless it absolutely could not be avoided.

Lady Silwen had little use for most commoners, and even less for Elves of any station who tried to catch the King’s eye. Tauriel, however, had done nothing at all to gain his attention, and would not welcome it, should he ever be mad enough to actually _act_ on it. And so, commoner though she was, Silwen had done what she could to protect the poor girl, who was probably the only one in the whole kingdom who had no idea she needed to _be_ protected.

So she had been incredibly displeased to find all her efforts had been for naught, and even more displeased when she could find no solution at all. That displeasure turned to worry when it reached her ears that Tauriel had tried – and very nearly succeeded – to kill herself. It had made her fear the very worst of the King’s actions.

If only the Prince had not left, the selfish child. None seemed to know the circumstances of his leaving, but if he had any sense at all, he would have taken Tauriel with him. Prince or not, when he returned, Silwen was going to give him a lecture he would not soon forget.

But now Tauriel was at liberty – and voluntarily returned to the King each night. It was possible that was simply one of the conditions of her release, but Silwen’s maid, Amaniel, suspected something darker.

“She has changed, my lady,” she said, as she brushed out Silwen’s golden hair for the evening, “and she cannot see it. Something in her mind has been altered,” she added, clearly choosing her words carefully, avoiding any actual blame to anyone.

Silwen met her maid’s eyes in the dressing-table mirror. “Amaniel, I will be blunt: is the King doing anything dishonorable to her?”

Predictably, the girl’s cheeks pinked. “Oddly, I do not think so,” she said. “Huoriel has actually seen them together, and says there is nothing of that…nature…at all. And Tauriel has told her that, while he seemed quite mad up until very recently, he has always been chivalrous.”

Well, _that_ was a relief. Imprisonment was bad enough, but imprisonment with coerced seduction was infinitely worse. At least the King was not Eöl.

“I will repeat this to no one,” Silwen said, turning to face Amaniel, “so tell me, has there been any discussion of trying to spirit her away?”

“A great deal of it, my lady,” the girl said, setting aside the brush, “and it has always come to the same conclusion: Tauriel would not willingly go. And if we were to get her away somehow against her will, she would return. I had thought perhaps he had laid some enchantment upon her, but Huoriel says captivity can do that to a person.”

Well, this was a fine mess. She was going to wring the Prince’s neck, and there would probably be a whole queue of people behind her, waiting to do the same. If the King was unwilling to truly release Tauriel, and Tauriel didn’t want to _be_ released, Silwen did not know what they were going to do.

Actually, perhaps she did. The Lady of the Golden Wood had unrivaled mental powers – if anyone could sort those two out, it was her. Given that it was in the best interest of all the Elven realms to keep King Thranduil somewhat sane, she might be persuaded to help. On the morrow, Silwen would dispatch a messenger.

Perhaps this madness need not go on forever.

\--

Tauriel’s body was one massive ache by the time she went home for the evening. She had known she was out of condition, but it was far worse than she’d thought. It would take her months to get back to full stamina. All she wanted now was a good meal, a warm bath, and then perhaps ten hours of sleep.

Bless Thranduil, he had the first of those three wishes waiting when she arrived – roast pheasant, cheese, and toasted bread, along with, naturally, a large carafe of wine. Even yet, his tolerance for alcohol sometimes amazed her.

“You look weary,” he said, taking her in from his seat in an armchair, but he was smiling when he said it.

“I _am_ weary,” she said, kicking off her boots, “and that smells amazing.”

“I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” he said. “The cook seasoned it in the way you prefer.”

She was a little disturbed that he _knew_ her preferences, though she was not at all surprised. After finding that unsettling folio of portraits, very little about his regard for her surprised her anymore. “I do not care if it tastes of sawdust,” she said, all but collapsing into the other chair. “I need food and a very hot bath.”

“I will rub your back, if you would like,” Thranduil said, cutting into the pheasant and dishing some onto her plate.

By now, the offer did not unnerve her. “I just might,” she said. “I’m in wretchedly poor condition. These next weeks will not be enjoyable.” She stuck her fork into the pheasant almost before he had finished putting it on her plate.

“Do not be Falchon with your food,” he scolded.

It took her a moment to work out what he meant, and then she burst out laughing, nearly knocking over the cup of wine he set beside her. “Poor Falchon,” she said. “You are not the only one who mocks him, according to Menelwen’s brother Istuion. He is apparently something of a laughingstock among the other nobles.”

“I do not wonder why,” Thranduil snorted. “He is like a weather-vane, except he sometimes fails to anticipate which way the wind will blow.”

“I still think you ought to make him color his hair.” Eru, the pheasant really _was_ delicious, seasoned with a combination of herbs and spices that made her want to devour it like she would have as a child. “Midsummer _is_ almost upon us.”

“Will you go with me, Tauriel?”

She looked up at him. “ _With_ you?”

“Yes, with me.” The strange possessiveness in his eyes had risen, and Tauriel frowned.

“I will,” she said, “if you promise me you will not snap at anyone who looks at us askance. Because many will. They believe me bewitched, though they will not say so to my face.”

Thranduil arched an eyebrow. “They rather have that backward,” he said. “You bewitched me, without meaning or trying to.”

 _Yes, to my detriment_ , she thought, polishing off the rest of her pheasant. “Sooner or later they will work that out for themselves.” She downed half her cup of wine at one go. “Yes, I will go with you, Thranduil, and you needn’t look so smug about it.” For smug he was, in his beautiful, marble-statue way. At least it subsumed the possessiveness that would never cease to unsettle her, no matter how oddly fond of him she was.

It always reminded her of the chain. And that made her angry, for he was looking at her with a depth of affection she wished she could return.

But such was life with Thranduil. Her time was spent either wanting to embrace him or kill him, but either way, she could not now imagine life without him.

She winced, and cracked her neck. Quite honestly, her soreness embarrassed her, though it was hardly her fault.

He arched an eyebrow again. “That was disgusting. Come, sit on the divan and take off your tunic. I will see what I can do about your aching back.”

It was not really an improper request; she wore an undershirt beneath the tunic. And even if she hadn’t, she’d taken enough baths with him to trust his intentions. Knowing his motives really were as pure as he believed them to be allowed her to enjoy how tactile he was, without needing to fear ulterior motive. For whatever blessed reason, he truly did not seem to have one.

And it really was a blessing, for, though Tauriel thought him beautiful, she had no carnal attraction to him – and, unlike many ellith and ellyn, never had. He was her King, and now he was her Thranduil, but she wanted nothing more than that. His near-constant caresses were pleasant, but they sparked not desire in her, so it was just as well he displayed none, either.

So it was without trepidation that she unlaced her tunic, struggling out of her sleeves and wincing again before she sat on the divan, head bowed, pleasantly relaxed by the wine and food. 

Thranduil sat behind her, pushing her hair out of the way. His thumbs dug into her shoulders hard enough to be satisfying, but not hard enough to hurt, and it was all she could do not to groan. Somehow, he knew exactly when and where to massage, his long fingers tracing her spine. He pulled the neckline of her shirt down as far as it would go, massaging all along the edge of the collar with his fever-hot fingers. She still didn’t know why he was so unnaturally warm, but it seemed he spoke the truth when he said he was always like that.

“If you ever tire of being a king, you would draw a fantastic trade doing this,” she said, as he eased a particularly recalcitrant knot from her left shoulder.

His laugh was deep and rich. “You mean, if Falchon one day at last annoys me beyond reason?”

Tauriel smiled. “Or if you grow weary of having to untangle your crown from your hair every night. Do not think I haven’t noticed. I find the shed hair all over the floor beneath the mantle.”

“Wretched thing,” he said, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, kneading her lower back. “One day I shall have no hair at all.”

“Then you will have to order Falchon to shave his off, so that you might wear it as a wig. Though Menelwen says Istuion swears he bleaches it.”

“He does,” Thranduil said dryly, “and thinks none notice when his dark roots grow in between times.”

Tauriel burst out laughing again. She had a sudden image of Falchon, who really was extremely attractive, sitting at his dressing-table with bleach stolen from the laundry on his roots, trying to achieve Thranduil’s silvery locks. “I will never again be able to look at him without laughing,” she complained.

“Feel free to laugh at him at Midsummer,” he said. “Your light is so much brighter when you do.”

She raised her head, and turned to look at him. “Thranduil, why do you call me your light?” she asked.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. “Because your fëa is so bright,” he said, stroking the hair from her brow. “I need your light, Tauriel. I am surrounded by so much darkness.”

The darkness, she knew by now, was all within his mind, but she had no idea how to make him see it. She was little more than a battlefield healer; the mental arts were entirely beyond her.

“Well, I am not going anywhere,” she said. “But I cannot remain your only light forever, Thranduil. There are others to be found in the world, you know.”

“I need no other,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw with his index finger. That fey gleam in his eyes was back, completely focused upon her.

Tauriel wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that some dark part of her _liked_ that focus. Thranduil might be unnerving and more than a little mad, but there was something deeply compelling about him, and having all that considerable energy focused on _her _…well. She knew how completely _wrong_ that was, hence her refusal to acknowledge it, but it was nevertheless there. It was not safe, it certainly was not _sane_ , and yet…__

__And yet._ _

__She was only now realizing how much power _she_ had over _him_. She knew how badly he needed her, or thought he needed her, and now that he was close to _himself_ again, that same dark part of her recognized that she had the ability to utterly break him. Oh, she would never, ever _do_ it, but it was obscurely comforting to know that she _could_. After so many months of powerlessness, it was good to finally have some back._ _

__“I might be all you need now,” she said, “but not always. We do live forever, after all.”_ _

__Thranduil smiled, and it cracked her heart. It reminded her that she all too easily could have loved him, if not for the six months of her captivity._ _

__If not for the chain._ _

__He must have seen the shift in her own expression, however minute, for the smile faded, and he gathered her close. He said nothing, but she read his silent apology in the play of his fingers over her bare arm. Anymore, her pain always seemed to hurt him._ _

___As it should_ , that dark place in her mind whispered. Thranduil of late had been so charming, so attentive, that it was sometimes easy to forget all he had put her through, less than a month ago. Eventual remembrance always infuriated her, if only briefly, and the shadow wanted to destroy him. She should never, ever have let him essentially get away with his behavior – oh, she’d punished him emotionally, once without even meaning to, but it was not nearly enough. He deserved to be destroyed, yet she could not bring herself to do it. Not when he looked at her with such simple, guileless affection, like she was the sum of all that was good in the world._ _

__She _was_ Aredhel. And yet most of her did not care. Aredhel had left behind an entire family who loved her, and had not wish her to depart, but Tauriel’s family had been dead so long she scarcely remembered them. None but Thranduil loved her, or thought they did. Which was pathetic, but it was the truth._ _

__And while she might be Aredhel, he was most definitely _not_ Eöl, for all the torment she had endured that Aredhel had not. Eöl was motivated by lust, but Thranduil loved her, though it had been horrifically destructive love. It was what she had, and it was enough._ _

__So she shut her eyes, and let his fingers play so tenderly along her arm. It wasn’t perfect – it wasn’t healthy – it did not even have a _definition_ , but it was all she had, and all she would likely ever have, for her heart had been buried with Kili. Thranduil did not answer, but she had not expected it to._ _

__Midsummer was in two days. Tauriel would go with him, and they would see what would happen._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Tauriel, you don’t even know how unhealthy you two really are, or that you’re still such a mess. You know your relationship, if it can even be called that, is seriously messed up when you both have some faint, lurking desire to either isolate or destroy each other, respectively.


End file.
